What the Lady Wants
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Characters, dates and instances in this story are purely fictional and submitted for entertainment purposes only; any similarity to real life situations, events or persons are strictly coincidental.
What The Lady Wants – BuzMeTendr
The warm summer air wafted past the sheer lace curtains and sent a surprising chill in the large, stone walled bedroom of Lady Gwenith. She lay snuggled beneath mounds of coverlets, fluffy, ruffled and down-filled, looking quite lost in the depth of them. Across the room was a small cot sporting a few simple yet warm woolen blankets, all tucked neatly in place revealing the freshness of either a bed unused, or one newly made. It was the latter that applied. On this morning in the Castle of LaSalle, Gwenith lay cozy and dreaming, and the kitchen maids had a scrumptious smell of fresh lamb, well beaten eggs, and strawberry tarts wafting throughout the house. The firm knock on the door roused Gwenith, better known as Lady Gwenith to her castle staff and Gwennie to her beloved father, Lord Phillip LaSalle.
“Yes, come in,” she mumbled, sitting up in bed ‘neath the heavy mound of coverings.
“‘Tis nigh time m’ Lady for the morning meal,” spoke Gwenith’s personal maid Francine as she set the new candle on the handsomely carved chest of drawers and smoothed her own little cot that was so neatly in place next to it. “‘Tis a good day for us to frolic through the gardens, m’ Lady.” Francine, smiling then turning to giggles added, “I hear the new workers are coming to start on the vineyard today, we might catch us a glimpse of some strapping young man, yes?”
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Gwenith’s eyes sparkled as her giggles chimed in. They were both in their prime; Gwenith now 18 and Francine, yet a slight younger age, but very wise to the ways of life, having been brought up by a poor lot of a family, was a mere 16.
“Ahhhh Francine, m’ girl, ’tis breathtaking to think of some handsome steed sweeping us from our feet and whisking us from this drab life of routine.”
Francine only smiled, keeping her wishes to herself, not wishing to complain or jeopardize this nice-paying, comfortable job that helped care for her family over the hill in the village. Gwenith was the self-willed only child of Lord Phillip LaSalle, and was used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it and how she wanted it. Spoiled, yet she really didn’t misuse that vice… too often.
Breakfast was delicious. Gwenith loved rattling her father first thing in the morning, so she quickly jumped at the opportunity when she heard him instructing the manservants to prepare to take him to the vineyards and inspect the migrant workers coming to see about work. “Father,” Gwenith spoke with a mocked innocence in her voice as she choked back a giggle and winked at Francine. “May I go to the vineyards? You know how I’d LOVE to inspect those migrant workers, might find my future love.” She turned slightly to hide her grinning as she heard the firm and thunderous reply she had expected.
“YOU may NOT, young lady and I’d pay particular attention to that word LADY, If you know what I mean! No daughter of mine will be linked with a mi….” At that very moment he saw the redness in her cheeks as she held her hand over her mouth then burst into laughter. Shaking his head he only muttered “Gwennie, what am I to do with you!” as he walked out the door.
“Let’s hurry!” Gwenith bade Francine as she half-ran from the dining room up the huge stone steps to her bedroom. Francine followed behind her, knowing that look in Lady Gwenith’s eye meant mischief.
“You heard your Papa now m’ Lady,” Francine warned, but Gwenith was already making plans.
Sneaking out of the house was no chore as the servants had plenty to occupy their time and minds with caring for the monstrosity of a house this Castle was. They did a fine job of it and even managed to spoil Gwenith as she had grown up sneaking into their part of the place as a child to listen to the women sing as they worked, something she vaguely could remember her mama doing when she was quite young; God rest her. Gwen had the run of the Castle, being the apple of her father’s eye, the only child and left motherless when the cholera plague had swept through their area some years ago.
Francine and Gwen saddled up their horses and rode along the back side of the wide open field to the top of the hill, then turned to ride concealed in a hedging of trees that bordered the wine field. “Ok, this will do,” spoke Gwenith in her matter-of-fact tone. Dismounting, they tied the horses and crept slowly to the edge of the trees, crouching down to watch as the migrants gathered. They smoothed their meager clothing the best they could, standing straight, tall and proud as if THEY owned the land they wanted to work. She watched as her father instructed them on what was to be expected, paid and all the particulars. As he called them out one by one to view their strengths and any apparent weaknesses and hand them a slip of paper with a bunk number on it if they were chosen. Most were. Those not chosen, her father, feeling somewhat sorry for them, yet not wanting to show it, would often take on an extra one or two for odd jobs and some he’d promise work at harvest time, giving them at least some hope for a brighter future.
“Oh my!” both girls exclaimed at once.
“Would ya look at that!” Gwenith nearly moaned as she watched her falling calling up the next young steed.
“Be still my beating heart,” Francine muttered.
Geoff Gallagher stood tall. Thick blond hair, two pools of ocean water blue for eyes. Muscled arms like those of a lumberjack. Rippling firm muscles across a broad shouldered, wide back and…
Interrupted from any further examination at the moment by the jabbing of Francine’s elbow, Gwenith turned with a certain fire in her eye. “I think it’s too good to be true.” She breathed a sigh and flopped down as if she were feigning a fainting. They watched as her father spoke with him, a bit longer than the others, then nodding, turned – quickly both girls caught their breath and lay flat and still – her father pointing the lay of the land they supposed, but their guilt was getting the better of them. She watched as they nodded, shook hands and this tall man of brusque build walked on.
“We’d best be heading back, m’ Lady, before we get caught,” Francine urged as she watched Gwen’s eyes travel from the top of this man’s thick hair, down his body, to the tip of his heavy leather boots. Tugging at her arm, she said, “Come now, don’t be swooning just yet, he might for all we know be a brute!” Francine’s words of wisdom chided.
“Ahhh, and maybe that’s what I want!” Lady Gwen teased.
It had been their routine for days, this sneaking to the field to peek at the manliness of the migrant workers as they toiled in the hot sun, plowing, planting, digging and placing stakes for the vines to climb. They watched as they would labor long and hard taking only what breaks were allowed and then oftentimes the very studious would skip a few of them. The distant laughter at break time made Gwen and Francine wonder what it was all about; and made for some late night chats as they let their imaginations fill in the blanks.
The evening air was thick with the smells of summer as Sarah O’Bannon put down her romance novel. She had, for years, used them as an escape into another world and often a way to glean out things she imagined she would do and say if she were to find a love of her own. It was while reading a novel in which the character had defied all reprimands and gotten herself a college education, that had prompted Sarah to do the same. It was while reading a novel that she decided she too, like the leading lady, would demand nothing less than a magical, passionate love from anyone who dared consider being espoused to her. On this night, with the air thick and warm, much like that in her most recent novel, Sarah lifted a glass of cool crisp lemonade to her full rose-colored lips. She drank it in slowly, savoring each wet trickle down her hot throat while her book lay in her lap and her opposite hand lifted the long heavy mane from her neck, wiping the beadlets of perspiration as it trailed along the fair skin and tangled itself in the mass of hair at her nape.
“Oh, if only my life could be as adventuresome as that of the Lady Gwenith,” the hired hand Seth heard her whisper as he watched her from afar – something he often did, but to no one’s knowledge but his own. His eyes beheld her natural beauty. The brightness in her eyes as she was reading, being drawn into her web of fantasies. The smoothness of her skin and how the light beams danced from the long thick curly auburn tresses that dangled and teased just below her shoulder blades. Sarah was by no means the Barbie doll build that most men wanted, yet her passions made her a beauty queen in Seth’s eyes. Her ample breasts spilled invitingly over the soft cotton dress, her rather full body hidden beneath the angled design as it flowed about her. No, she was not what most in her community had thought of as the perfect girl; but Seth saw it in her eyes, heard it in her words and the sincerity of her voice: she had passion, true magical passion just waiting to be released. Seth intended to do just that.
Hearing a crack of a fallen branch, Sarah raised her head and looked into the darkness of the night then, without warning, Seth stepped from the shadows of the rose garden, highlighted by the shadows of the moon and the burning porch lamp. Without a word they looked momentarily into each other’s eyes before he spoke up.
“Excuse me, Miss Sarah, didn’t mean to startle you,” Seth apologised.
“Quite alright,” Sarah replied as she took a glance again over his firm, fit body; wishing, hoping… but never thinking.
“Nice night for a book,” he intruded on her thoughts once again.
“Yes, yes it is,” she answered.
Without permission he took it from her lap and flipped open to a section, smiled… and handed the book back.
“Pretty racy material for a country girl don’t you think?” Seth chided her. He had done so since they were children and especially the more since he had worked on Sarah’s father’s farm for the past several months.
With a blush, Sarah took the book and smacked him with it. “I’ll let you know when I’m finished with it, or perhaps you’d care to read it and take some pointers from the leading man?” she laughed as she got one up on him.
“I’ll be saying good night now, smarty pants,” he spoke as he rose and made his way past the porch and on down to the cabin situated between the rose garden and the barn.
“Gotcha, didn’t I?” Sarah teased. “Good night, Seth.” She watched him saunter off down the path, her mind in a whirl. If only he knew how long she had dreamed of him, how long she had wanted him… but no, it would not be. After all, she explained again to herself, he is the most desired by all the prettiest town girls. I’m just the plump girl from school that happens to live on the farm where he works.
Seth’s mind went over and over the passage he read briefly from her book. Yes, he decided, Sarah had more passion than the average girl and was deserving of having it released in the most fiery fashion he could arrange – when the time was right.
Stretching from her position on the porch swing, Sarah decided for her usual last minute stroll through the rose garden. She paused, plucked the now folding bud from the vine, her mind reeling of the events about to take place in her novel. Would Gwenith get the tall strapping man? Would he be worth having, or perhaps is he a crude specimen similar to those Sarah herself had endured over the years, taunting the downtrodden and less beautiful, and choosing the prettiest. She couldn’t see the character Gwenith settling to be a trophy but, like her, wanted someone to love her for who she was and release the years of pent-up desires held deep within. She brushed the soft dew-dampened petal against her full luscious lips as she drifted off in thought and let her feet lead her deeper into the garden. She sat herself down on the white-painted cast-iron bench and gazed up at the stars.
Seth watched. Having tumbled enough already, Seth had decided it was time. He could bear it no more. He loved her, he had always known it, but now, it was time. Walking silently up behind her, knowing she was in her fantasy world again, he watched her breasts rise and fall in deep breaths, almost a dream-like stage. Quietly setting his goods at his feet, he took a long deep breath and let his hands slip into her hair. Sarah jumped and before she could scream his hand was over her mouth.
“Sh-h-h-h-h-h, it’s me, Seth,” he whispered to her. Her eyes widened. Only when he felt her relax did he move his hand from her mouth, but not after having traced those lips with the tip of his finger. Their eyes locked. No words were necessary. He tilted her chin and kissed her long, deep, sensuously, all the while his hands roaming through her hair, pulling her closer. It was like a silent movie. The only sounds were those of the night, their own breathing and Sarah would have sworn the beating of her heart loud enough to wake the chickens! She watched his every move as he moved down and picked up the wicker basket. He pulled out two wine glasses, handing them to her as he filled them both. Sipping wine and kissing between, their eyes spoke what their lips did not. Seating himself on the bench, Seth laid Sarah back across his lap, letting her long thick locks dangle down over the edge of his lap. His groin hardened from the desire that was within him. His mind again going over the type of novels Sarah read, he was sure he had chosen the perfect thing to make this night just what the lady wanted.
With the soft scent of the roses and wine in the air, Seth again reached into his basket, pulling out a boar-bristled brush, and began running it through the shiny, summer-dampened locks. His eyes followed each stroke as it traveled the length of her hair and how each curl would spring back as the brush released it. She was a beauty! His breath more labored, he bent to kiss her whispering only one word: “Sarah.” He moaned it out in a passionate hunger for her. Her eyes lowered, blinking slowly, saying yes to him with their deep longing. His strong hands, yet gentle to her skin, slowly moved the shoulders of the cotton dress down, revealing the lace-bra-clad breasts as they filled and spilled over the rim. Seth caught his breath. Sarah moaned at his touch. She knew that it would be the night of her dreams, the night of unleashed desires she had only read of. She knew it would be uniquely hers. The brushing stopped. Sarah lay with eyes closed, drinking in every detail of this night, embedding it to her brain for all eternity.
“My love,” Seth finally spoke. Sarah opened her eyes to see him holding a pair of large black barber clippers. “My beautiful love,” he continued, speaking in a low, sultry voice. “You have hidden your beauty much too long.”
Sarah could say nothing, she knew it was true. Her hair had been the only thing the men seemed attracted to and beyond it she seemed non-existent to them. Lying across his lap she heard the “POP”, the buzzing humming sound filled the night air. She felt the vibrations as Seth lay the clippers to her hairline, direct center of her forehead. Again, her eyes blinked their permissive, slow consent. With one hand pushing the clippers through the mass of auburn tresses, the other slid under her panties and rolled its way across her aching flesh, the hair fell. The path was bold, stark white even in the light of the moon. The curls lay in a heap at the base of the bench next to Seth’s ankles. Sarah arched her back and groaned. Shorn. Sarah lay with herself totally given to Seth. Was it a dream? It was however, “What the Lady Wants.”
———– The End —————